Vigilantes
by stabler99
Summary: What happens when a medical examiner and a detective take the law into their own hands? All hell breaks loose!
1. Replay

_Disclaimer: I don't own "Crossing Jordan", or any song lyrics that might appear somewhere in the story._

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_The door opens. A stranger enters the morgue. Lily asks him what his purpose is as she hands a cup of coffee to Garrett and another one to Bug, while my father chastises my lateness. The man pulls a gun out from underneath his big brown coat and opens fire. Nigel rushes out of the autopsy room to see what the commotion is about, and he takes a bullet to the chest. The elevator stops, and Woody and I get out, laughing at some corny joke he told, until we see the carnage and hear the screams. Woody and I dive back into the elevator where he calls 911. SWAT shows up and shoots the guy, but by the time the ambulances arrive it is too late. Lily, Garrett, and my father are gone._

Over and over again, the scene replayed itself in Jordan's mind. She and Woody sat in the ICU waiting room, both of them numb with shock.

_"This was in your father's hand," the paramedic said, handing me a small package. In it is a silver ring inlaid with a moonstone, and a birthday card. "'This was your birthday present from last year that I wasn't around to give you,'" the card reads. "'Love, dad.'"_

A doctor walked out. Woody stood up. "How are they?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Mr., ah, Mahesh I'm-not-going-to-even-try-his-last-name is in a stable condition and is expected to make a full recovery. But I'm afraid Mr. Townshend is gone. I'm very sorry."

_With his dying breath the shooter cries, "Viva Los Dragones Negros!" "Long live the Black Dragons!" The SWAT sniper had shot him in the neck, so he had absolutely no chance. I want to scream, cry, do something, but I can't. It was as though my mother had just died a second time._

"What did he mean by 'the black dragons'?" Jordan asked.

Woody looked up from the floor, where he'd been staring at since Bug and Nigel were first admitted. "I don't know. Maybe a gang. Does it really matter?"

_"Do you know this man?" Homicide Detective Harry Spader asks, pointing at the shooter._

_"No," I answer. "I've never seen him before in my life."_

Darrell Wallace, Narcotics Detective, approached Jordan and Woody. "Do you know of any way that any of the victims might have had with Mexican organized crime?" he asked, without even saying hello first.

_The death toll was nine, including a woman identifying her dead husband's body, with 12 people injured. All of the victims have clean records, and none of them expected this._

Jordan and Woody both said no. "Well, it looks as though this shootings, rather than being entirely random, were a hit orchestrated by a Mexican gang known as the 'Black Dragons'." He flipped open his note pad. "With the principle targets being Garrett Macy and Max Cavanaugh. Do you know these men?"

_As Woody and I leave the morgue, a cluster of bloodthirsty reporters bombard us with questions. I can't even tell them apart from one another, let alone answer their questions._

"Mr. V. is awake, suprisingly, and he wishes to see you," the doctor came into the waiting room and said. "Unless you're busy."

"We already gave our statements," Woody said.

"Macy was my boss, and Cavanaugh was my father," Jordan told the detective. "And no, neither one of them were Mexican druglords."

Bug tried to sit up in bed when he saw Jordan and Woody, but instead he only succeeded in pulling an arm muscle.

_"Lily!" Bug shouts when he realizes that Lily is on the ground in a pool of blood. "Wake up Lily!" No response._

"Lily," he croaks. "Is she alright?"

_He doesn't see the shooter reload. He feels mindnumbing pain in his arm and falls._

"I'm sorry, Bug," whispers Jordan, tears in her eyes for the first time that afternoon. "She's gone."

_"I love you, Lily," Bug whispers as the world turns black._

Bug closed his eyes and leaned back, a moan of pain escaping him. A nurse walked in. "I'm afraid you two are going to have to leave now."

_The elevator door closes as Max yells, "Jordan!" That was the last time I will ever see him alive._

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**Five Days Later...**

Jordan knocked on Woody's door. "Jordan? What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to Mexico," she stated.

"What?" Woody blinked. "Mexico? Why?"

"My plane leaves in three hours. I'm on my way to the airport now."

"But- but why are you going?"

"Revenge and answers. They killed my father, and before I kill whoever is responsible, I want to know why."

Woody looked stunned for a moment. "Well then I'm coming with you. And don't try to stop me."

Jordan handed him a plane ticket, and smiled slightly. "I knew you would say that."

_Woody and I stand together at the joint funeral, honoring all 9 of the morgue victims. We stand apart from the other mourners, both of us lost in our own thoughts, both of us forming a plan. Vengeance will be ours._

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**A/N: **_More chapters will be coming soon. Please read and review what I have. I hope you like it so far._


	2. Te Dieum

_Disclaimer: I still own nothing, except the Black Dragons because I made them up (I think)_

**A/N: **_Thank you, everyone that reviewed so far. I wrote this story so that it would be different than most other tragedies- you know, where after losing someone the hero/heroine cries, falls in love, talks about their feelings, and then everything turns out okay. Well, this one won't be like that ("don't get mad: get even" applies here). Perhaps I've said too much..._

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**Mexico City, Mexico**

**El Aeropuerto Central**

Jordan took a deep breath of the hot, dry Mexican air before proceeding to the baggage claim area. _This doesn't seem real. What am I doing here, again? _

Woody, who already claimed his suitcase, tried to smile at Jordan. "Well, we're here. What now?"

_How the hell am I supposed to know? _"I haven't gotten that far yet." She pulled her suitcase down off the conveyor belt. "I thought maybe you'd have an idea."

Woody just stared at her, mouth agape. "What? Wait, this was your idea-"

"Then leave!" snapped Jordan. "Just get your sorry ass back on the plane and go home! No one's stopping you." _Your father wasn't the one who was murdered in cold blood, just a couple of yards away from you. You didn't have to hear him call out your name with his last breath, or, or..._

"They were my friends, too," Woody said quietly. "I'm just scared, that's all."

_So am I, but that's not stopping me from getting justice. _"Like I said, you can leave if you want to."

"But I don't want to. And besides, you need my help."

"I need _your _help?"

"A couple of years ago," he said. "The Boston PD Narcotics Unit busted open a cocaine smuggling ring that was operating out of Mexico City. The only way they were able to manage this was because of a mole."

"So you're saying that if we find this mole, he can get us inside the Black Dragons?"

"Or at least hook us up with someone that knows something. We have to start somewhere, and using this guy is a heck of a lot easier than just wandering around asking people if they know something."

"Great," said Jordan. "Now how do we find this guy?"

"I have no idea. Mexican white pages, maybe?"

"So does that mean you're in?"

Woody met her gaze and nodded. "Until the end."

Part of Jordan was relieved that she'd have help, but she was also apprehensive. _Will he actually help, or will his code to 'protect and defend' get in the way? _"All right then. Now all we need are guns, a name, and a phone book."

"His name's Alejandro Hernandez, and we can buy weapons on just about every street corner." He took a deep breath. "You do realize that once we start this 'quest for revenge' or whatever, there's no turning back."

The smallest trace of a smile passed over Jordan's face. "And there's no turning back for them, either." _The people who did this will live only long enough to regret it._

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**Acapulco, Mexico**

El Primero, head of the Black Dragons, exited the confessor's booth feeling fully cleansed of his sins. _Those two Americanos should have known better than to mess with me. It's unfortunate that the other victims got caught up in this, but I will not lose any sleep over their deaths. _

It had been a well calculated plan, if not perfectly conducted. His American contacts supplied him with all of the right schedules for the Boston morgue; it was convienient that the daughter of one of his targets worked for the other one. _I hope she feels the same pain at the loss of her father that I felt for the loss of my son all of those years ago. _Max Cavanaugh had been the detective investigating the murder of El Primero's son's ex-fiancee. Garrett Macy had been the medical examiner that damned his son to life in prison through his autopsy. All because Ricardo had been a drug addict from another country, and the other suspect was a well-respected businessman. _"Papi, you have to help me!" Ricardo pleaded. "I never killed anyone. They're going to lock me up forever, and I didn't even do anything!" _Even with the best lawyers that drug money could buy, Cavanaugh and Macy's testimonies persuaded the jury beyond a shadow of a doubt that his son was guilty of murder. A year after the trial, El Primero recieved a letter saying that his son had been raped and killed in prison. His wife commited suicide after hearing the news.

In the office in his mansion, El Primero had a shrine to honor his son. Ricardo's picture, taken a month before he left for Boston, hung on a cork message board, surrounded by pictures of the people El Primero killed/ had someone else kill. He added Garrett Macy and Max Cavanaugh's photos, along with a USA Today article that listed the names of all the victims. _Some names are missing, _he thought bitterly. _The detective and the two medical examiners that_ _survived should be there among their dead brethren. _

There was a knock at the door. One of the druglord's many lieutenents walked in. "Que quieres?" El Primero demanded. "What do you want?"

"Two of the survivors just flew in today, jefe," he said. "One of them is the daughter of the dead ex- police officer."

_I suppose she will want to avenge her father's death. _He lit a candle and bowed his head. The lieutenant hurried away; he knew better than to bother El Primero when he was in his office.

"I have avenged you, my son," he whispered. "And I will not let anyone take that away from us."

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_You know the drill; read and review, and I promise the next chapter will be more exciting..._


	3. Blood Money

_Disclaimer: I still own nothing..._

**A/N: **_In response to a certain review, this story was originally going to be a "Law and Order: SVU" story, but I decided that Jordan seemed more like someone who would fly to Mexico to find the man that killed her father. Who knows, maybe Stabler and Benson will be somewhere in here..._

_Note: All italicized items are Jordan's thoughts and flashbacks, so sorry if I'm confusing anyone._

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_"Nothing ever stops all these thoughts and the pain attached to them" -Mike Shinoda, "Figure.09"_

**Unknown Slum **

**Outskirts of Mexico City, Mexico**

Jordan and Woody hurried through the winding streets of the slum they found themselves in, trying to ignore the hostile stares they were recieving. It was brutally hot outside, so the hand that clutched her gun was slippery with sweat. With every person that they passed, Jordan thought to herself, _Does he know who murdered my father? Does she? _It was tempting, the idea of randomly pointing her gun at people and demanding answers, but she knew that an action like that wouldn't accomplish anything.

"I hate being an American sometimes," muttered Woody.

"I don't understand why you're wearing a suit when it's 98 degrees out," said Jordan. "That's why we stand out."

"I can't help it; that's all I brought." He unfolded a torn page from the phone book and stopped in front of a dingy hovel. "This is it."

"Are you sure about that?" She pointed around. "They all look alike, and none of them have house numbers."

"I'm 50 percent sure. And that's better than nothing." He knocked on the red-painted wooden door.

"Que estas asi?" a man called from inside.

"Alejandro Hernandez? Is that you?"

"Si. Er, no hablo ingles."

"You spoke English pretty damn good back in Boston," Woody answered.

"Go away!" Hernandez yelled. "I don't want to have anything to do with any more American police."

Jordan pounded on the door. "Open the goddamn door, Hernandez!" she shouted.

_The elevator door closes, forever seperating me from my friends and family. I hit the door, bruising the side of my hand. "Garrett! Lily! Nigel! Bug! Dad!" Woody grabs my arm. "There's nothing more you can do!" he says. Screams and crying- then I hear nothing over the pounding in my head._

The door opened a tad. Half of Hernandez's face became visible. "Que haces aqui?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Information," Woody said offhandedly. "Can we come in?"

"Is it just the two of you?" Woody nodded. "Then, si."

They found themselves in a medium sized room with a dirt floor. A rusty stove sat in one corner; the only furniture in the whole place was a mattress on the floor. "I'd say welcome to mi casa, but it's not much of a house- at least by American standards," Hernandez said, laughing nervously. "But I know you didn't come here for social reasons."

"Like he said, we need information," Jordan said.

"Who are you?"

"That's not important. We're here for information, not to introduce ourselves."

"What kind of information do you need, and how much are you willing to pay?" Hernandez asked.

"500 American, if your info's good," said Woody.

Hernandez nodded. "It is, as you say, a done deal."

"Tell us everything you know about the Black Dragons," Jordan commanded.

Their informant crossed himself, a look of sheer terror on his face. "500 is nowhere near enough for that," he croaked. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someone else."

_My father's eyes, silently pleading to me. "Jordan!" _

Jordan aimed her gun at Hernandez. "I didn't want to resort to this, but it seems that you've left me with no choice."

"You- you wouldn't shoot a man in cold blood, would you?"

_The woman identifying her husband's body lay slumped over on the floor. Her eyes were still open, a look of shook on her still face. She had no idea that she would lose her life today. "8 DOA's," the paramedic says into his radio. I stare at the woman, knowing that her children are now orphans._

"If he gets in my way, then yeah, I will."

"The Black Dragons are the most feared and powerful gang in the country," Hernandez whispered. "They're led by a man known only as El Primero. Supposedly he had a son that died in America. I really don't know much about them, other than they have many of their members in influential government positions. I do know the name of one government bureaucrat: Jose Santos. He does paperwork for them- which includes keeping a list of their hits."

"No one needs to know about this," Woody ordered as he threw a wad of cash at him.

"If we find out you're wrong, then I'm coming after you," Jordan added as she holstered her gun.

The two Americans walked out the door of the hovel, leaving a terrified Hernandez alone with his money.

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"I told you, I know nothing!" Hernandez pleaded to the large men that had broken his door down.

"We saw the two Americans leave this miserable excuse for a house," one of his assailants spat. "We want to know why."

The other one grabbed him by the throat. "Why were they here?" he shouted.

"All right, all right, I'll tell you," Hernandez whimpered. "They wanted to know about the Black Dragons. I- I don't know why. The woman almost killed me. Then they paid me and left."

"What did you tell them?"

"Just a name," he whispered. "That's all. Please don't kill me!"

The other man took out a knife and stabbed Hernandez in the back. "Don't mess with the Black Dragons," he hissed.

They threw him to the floor and left. Gasping for breath, blood pouring over the money that littered the floor, he dragged himself over to his mat, where his rosary lay. "Hail Mary," he whispered, then lay still, the beads clutched in his lifeless hand.

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_Read and review; the next chapter will be up soon!_


	4. One Down

_Disclaimer: No tengo nada..._

**A/N: **_This chapter is where the actual revenge starts..._

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_"When it's all done, you reap what you sow" -Mike Shinoda, "Points of Authority"_

**Government Complex**

**Central Mexico City, Mexico**

"The Department of Records," Woody said as he and Jordan stood outside a alrge, grey government building. "The secretary at the last place said that a Jose Santos works here as an Undersecretary to the Department Head's Undersecretary."

"Let's hope we've got the right Jose Santos." She didn't want to think about what would happen if they didn't.

_On my way into the building, I run into Woody. "You're late," he says. "You're it," I laugh as we race each other to the elevator. People who haven't had their coffee yet glare at us, which only makes us laugh harder._

Jordan and Woody somberly walked up to the receptionist's desk, avoiding the gazes of dark suited government employees. They were for one purpose, and they didn't want their faces to be remembered.

"Puedo ayudarte?" The receptionist asked. "May I help you?"

"Tu hablas ingles?" Woody asked. She nodded. "Does a Jose Santos work here?"

The receptionist turned pale. "Who wants to know?"

"That's not important, is it?" Jordan said, a venemous smile on her face.

"N-no, I guess not. He's on the second floor, fourth office on the right. His name is on the door."

"Gracias, senorita," Woody said, and he and Jordan headed towards the elevator.

Jordan pressed the second floor button, her hand shaking uncontrollably. She rubbed her forehead. "Jordan? What's wrong?"

_I press the elevator up button "Do we have time to get coffee?" Woody asks. I shake my head. "It's Lily's turn to get coffee, anyways. I'll kill her if she forgot."_

_Why won't these flashbacks stop? _Jordan thought, her head pounding. "I'm fine," she said, mainly to herself. _Keep it together. It'll all be over soon._

_"There are two muffins sitting in an oven," Woody says. "One goes, 'It's getting warm in here.' The other one says, 'Ah, a talking muffin!'" I laugh, even though the joke wasn't that funny. Then, the door opens..._

Woody knocked on Santos's door. All along the hall, they heard a 'snick' sound as everyone locks their offices. Jordan and Woody gave each other the same foreboding look. He knocked again. "Jose Santos? Are you in there?"

Through a panel of frosted glass, Jordan could see the outline of a man pushing his desk in front of the door. Woody took off his suit jacket, wrapped it around his hand, and smashed the glass. Jordan crawled through and pointed her gun at the man inside. "Are you Jose Santos?" she demanded.

"S-si," Santos stammered, backing up against the window on the far wall.

Jordan pushed the desk away from the door, then unlocked it. Woody barged in, saying, "Who were you trying to keep out?"

Santos gestured at a 24" TV on an oak table in the corner. "I'm the only one in the building with video surveillence, so I saw you coming."

"What's wrong? You don't want your coworkers to know about your friends, the Black Dragons?" Woody asked sarcastically.

Santos opened and closed his mouth. "I- I have..."

"Spare us the 'I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about' act," Jordan snarled. "Did you or did you not have something to do with the hits on Garrett Macy and Max Cavanaugh?" Her voice broke slightly when she said her father's name. _There's no time for feeling sad. I'll grieve some other time._

"Well, I, you see-"

"Answer her question!" Woody shouted.

Santos flinched. "All I did was find their files for the Dragons. You know how there's the middle man? Well, I'm the little man." He laughed fatalistically.

"Shut up," Jordan said flatly. "Who did you give the files to?"

"Two representatives," he answered evasively.

"Names? Come on, it would be easy for us to just shoot you now."

Santos considered this for a moment. "Javier Avarro and Carlos Guitan. But I didn't kill anyone! All I do is pull files for the names that the Dragons give me. I'mthe only one that can find the American ones because I have connections." He looked proud, which disgusted Jordan to no end. "All I do is give them information. No harm done, right?"

Woody slammed him up against the wall. "9 innocent people are dead because of you!"

"It's not like I try-" Santos protested, but an enraged Jordan cut him off.

"You know what the Black Dragons do to the people who's files you give them! That makes you an accessory!"

"If this was the US, then you'd be facing a judge," Woody said calmly. "But instead you get to face us." He dropped Santos and aimed his gun at him. "We're the judge, jury, and executioner." He pulled the trigger. Santos gasped as he took a bullet to the chest and fell.

"Why?" Santos croaked.

"You brought this on yourself," said Jordan.

"Just like your father?"

"What? What did you say?" She lunged forwards and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, then recoiled when she realized he was dead.

Woody took a step backwards. "Oh my God," he whispered. "What have I- what did I..."

His face was ghostly pale. Jordan swallowed and looked over at the TV, away from Woody's face. She saw two burly walking down the hallway towards them. "Woody!" she shouted. He didn't respond. "Snap out of it, Woodrow!"

He looked away from the body. "What?"

"We've got company." She pointed at the screen.

"Shit! What are going to do?"

"Get the hell out of here, that's what!"

Woody slammed his elbow against the eject button on the VCR and grabbed the security tape. "The only way out in through the window," Jordan said. Woody pulled his sleeves over his hands -to avoid leaving fingerprints- and picked the TV up, then threw it at the window. The window shattered, and the television plummeted to the ground two stories below.

Jordan picked the shell casing up off the floor. "The perfect crime," Woody muttered.

_Now there really is no turning back, _Jordan thought as she glanced at Santos's body one last time.

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"The Americans have been here," Tito, one of the Black Dragons' hitmen, remarked as he examined Santos's body.

"What do think they're after?" his partner Salvador asked.

"I don't know, but whoever they are they're smart." He pointed at the table where the TV had been. "The tape's gone, too."

"And the shell casing from the gun they used." Salvador frowned. "Just who exactly are we dealing with?"

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**A/N: **_Review please!_


	5. The Walking Dead

_Disclaimer: Nothing, own I_

**A/N:** _Thank you for all of your reviews. It's nice to see that my writing is :sniff-sniff: appreciated.This will be kind of a short chapter, mostly about...well, you'll just have to read it and see._

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_"The walls we build around us to keep out the sadness also keep out the joy" -Jim Rohn_

**Hotel Francisco**

**Mexico City, Mexico**

Jordan sat on the edge of her bed feeling completly numb. _We killed an unarmed man, and I can't even bring myself to feel bad about it._

_Bug's eyes are full of uncharacteristic tears as he realizes that Lily is dead._

_Why can't I feel sorrow like that? _she wondered. _What is it about me that stops me from grieving?_

Anger was that she could feel, all that she knew. Part of her was dead.

Jordan had spent most of her life denying that she had any sense of sadness and pain, hiding behind emotional walls, not letting anyone in. Then, she moved back to Boston, got her current job at the morgue, and slowly began to fill the void in her heart, the emptiness she didn't even know she had. Garrett, Nigel, Lily, Bug, and even Woody became her family. Then, she and her father declared a truce, over thermoses of chowder. They began to rebuild their lost relationship, knowing that it's never too late to start over. _Well, it is now._

When her father and members of her (adopted) family died, she knew that part of her soul died with them.

"That's why I feel so empty," she whispered.

Someone knocked on the door, penetrating Jordan's thoughts. She swallowed nervously. Pistol in hand, she slowly approached the door, her spine literally tingling with fear.

It was Woody. "Can I come in?" he asked, his voice strangely husky.

"Sure." Her heart rate returned to normal.

They sat on chairs by the window. "Are you doing okay?" Woody asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know, Jordan, it's okay to admit that you have feelings and that you're upset," he said gently.

"Thanks for your permission," she snapped.

"Look, I'm just trying to help!"

"I realize this, but the last thing I need is for people to be waiting for me to fall apart." She knew that she was being too harsh, but she couldn't stop. "We're here for a reason, and it doesn't involve crying and feeling sorry for ourselves."

"I- I... I'm sorry. Forget I said anything." Woody hurried out the door.

"Woody, wait!"

Jordan slammed the door after he left and threw herself on the bed. She tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. _Maybe I'm better off alone. I don't need anyone. But then why do I feel so empty? _"I'm sorry Woody," she whispered. Anger and regret.

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Woody sat on the end of his bed, staring at his hands. _I killed an unarmed man. I killed him, and I don't even feel bad about it. _In fact, part of him felt better as a result. _What's happening to me? I'm a cop! I should be looking for _legal _ways of getting justice._

He remembered the time Nigel saved his life after he inhaled large amounts of drugs from a sweater, causing him to overdose. _He never let me forget that one. _Then, he thought of his brother, who's life was completly screwed up thanks to drugs. _This druglord we're after deserves whatever he's got coming to him. _

He looked at his hands again. _But that man I shot... he had no chance. _He saw blood, Santos's blood, covering his hands. Woody shivered. _What have I done?_ He blinked and it was gone.

Woody scrubbed his hands under water for ten minutes, wishing that the cold liquid would wash away the memories of what he'd done, of what he was going to do.

_"There's nothing more you can do," he yells as he grabs Jordan by the arm._

He narrowed his eyes. _Oh, but there is something we can do. And we're doing it right now._

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The sun went down over Mexico City, and with it went the last bit of conscience that both Jordan and Woody possessed. _Those bastards are going down. Even if we lose our souls in the process._

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**A/N: **_Like I said, short and more angst than anything. Kindly review, as usual. And, the next chapter will have a lot of changes and new developments in it, so be on the lookout for somewhat of an ironic plot twist..._


	6. The Exception, Not The Rule

_Disclaimer: I'm sick of writing disclaimers!_

**A/N: **_I'm sorry the update took so long; I've been suffering from Severe Writers' Block. Still, thanks for all of the positive feedback!_

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_"You can close your eyes to reality, but not to memory" -Stainslaw J. Lee_

**Hotel Delfino**

**Cancun, Mexico**

El Primero stood on the 18th floor balconey of his resort Hotel Delfino. He watched the sun rise over the Gulf, and knew that his wife, Monica, wouldn't be up for another 5 hours or so, nor would their young children, Rafael and Ana. _Good, _he thought. _I can't even hear myself think with them around._

He missed Ricardo and Josefina, his first wife, so much that it hurt to think about them. _I am probably the only gangster that gets teary eyed looking through old photo albums. That is why I will do anything to prove that my son was not the monster the Americans say he was._

Felipe Cerrata, El Primero's personal assistant/ second-in-command, cleared his throat. The druglord jumped slightly and turned around, scowling. "Buenos dias, Jefe," Cerrata said nervously.

"Buenos dias. What do you want?"

Cerrata swallowed. "You see, I have some good news and bad news." _Give him the good news first, _he thought. _Maybe it will distract him. _"Avarro and Guitan have the files of the two New York City police detectives safely in their possession."

El Primero half-smiled. Before he went to Boston, Ricardo spent several months in New York City, seeing the sights. Then, he was accused of rape and murder, and harassed by two detectives, Stabler and Benson. Due to a technicality (inadmissable evidence), Ricardo was able to avoid indictment and, ultimately, Rikers prison. However, he left the city with a dislocated collarbone, courtesy of Stabler's rough treatment. Ricardo never got justice for that mistreatment, for their lawsuit failed. _All of the Americans that made my son suffer will pay. _"Did you send them the free vacation packages?"

"Si. They should arrive at their precinct some time today." _That wasn't so hard._

"And the bad news?"

_Shit! _"Er, uh, well... Santos is dead." _God I hope I'm not next!_

"Oh." El Primero didn't appear to be the slightest bit perturbed.

"Oh?"

The crime boss nodded. "It's the Americans. And I know who's next: the lawyers, Avarro and Guitan."

"Should I warn them?" Cerrata asked. _How does he know?_

"No. Instead, I want two of our men at the offices to meet them. Guitan and Avarro are to know nothing about the Americans or Santos. Understood?"

"Yes, Jefe."

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**Second Floor**

**Law Offices of Javier Avarro and Carlos Guitan**

**Suburb of Mexico City, Mexico**

"Okay, so we managed to get inside the building without being detected," said Woody as Jordan picked the lock on the door to Avarro and Guitan's records room. "But don't you think that there'll be tighter security in the _records room_? You know, like cameras?"

"That's why you're going to stand watch while I break in and find the files." She pointed at the stairs. "Stand over there."

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said snidely, as he did what she said.

Jordan heard a satisfying click as the door finally unlocked. Making sure that her latex gloves were securely in place- to avoid leaving fingerprints-, she twisted the knob and stepped inside.

The small room was filled with row after row of file cabinets. _This is just perfect! How the hell am I going to find anything?_

She twisted the moonstone ring from her father around her finger. The stone was illuminated by light coming through a single window. For a moment, the moonstone appeared to be red. _Like blood. Dad's blood. _She shivered. _Don't go there. These visions or whatever they're called won't stop until this nightmare is over, which can't happen unless I find those files. _

In the far right corner of the room, a lone file cabinet caught Jordan's eye. 'American Interests', it was labeled in English. _Huh. What do they mean by interests?_

Using the screwdriver she'd used on the door, she forced her way in. Neatly organized by name were seven beige colored files, three of which had a large red X slashed across the front. "'Melvin Brooks,'" she read. "'Terminated March of last year.'" Then, she found Max Cavanaugh and Garrett Macy's files, both with large X's on the front. _Well, that was easy enough. A little too easy if you ask me. _

She flipped open two other files. "'Elliot Stabler, NYPD' and 'Olivia Benson, also NYPD'". _What do these people have against American cops?_

She opened the other two, and their contents made her gasp out loud. _Oh my God! Have they been..._

Two gunshots rang out. She heard Woody shout something unrecognizable. "Woody!" She picked up all seven American files and ran to the door.

An unknown man stood in the doorway, holding a gun. Jordan felt her insides constrict with fear. The man smiled. "What have we here?" he said.

Jordan felt cold as she realized that, for the first time during their vendetta, she and Woody weren't the ones in control.

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**A/N: ** _I love cliffhangers, don't you?_


	7. The Hunters Become The Hunted

_Disclaimer: I own everything... except "Crossing Jordan" and everything else_

**A/N: **_Okay, so y'all don't like cliffhangers (with the exception of **traceyh**). Well, good thing no one knows where I live... _

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_"Nothing can stop in this land of the pain/ the sane lose not knowing they were part of the game" -Linkin Park, "FRGT/10"_

Woody tapped his foot impatiently. _What's taking Jordan so long? _he thought.

Just then, the door to the office next to the file room creaked open. A tall man in a tailored suit headed towards the ajar door to the records room, a gun clutched in his hand. Woody crouched down on the stairs. _Get out of there Jordan. _He wondered if he should ambush the man. He switched his Glock off of safety and checked to make sure it was loaded. Then, a fist impacted with the back of his head. Woody accidently squeezed the trigger. One bullet hit the wall and the other one grazed his left leg. He shouted in pain and dropped the gun. A large hand grabbed him by the throat. He swung around and stomped on the foot of his attacker, a large hairy man. The man grunted and squeezed harder. Woody choked as his windpipe was constricted. He clawed at the hand, trying to make the man let go. Then, his oxygen-starved brain finally remembered that his legs were free. He kicked his attacker as hard as he could in the groin. The man threw him down the stairs, where he lay stunned. _Help me, Jordan, _he silently pleaded.

Jordan hid the files behind her back. "Don't bother hiding those documents, senorita," the man said. "I saw you snooping around in here on the security camera. My question is, who are you and what were you looking for?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said. _Would I be able to grab my gun and shoot him before he noticed? _

The man answered by slapping her across the face. "Wrong answer."

"Are you Javier Avarro?" Jordan asked. _Keep stalling. Where the hell is Woody?_

"Carlos Guitan. But I'm asking the questions- not you. Who are you?"

_There's got to be something I can do. _"What brand is your tie?" she asked. _I don't think he'll be stupid enough to fall for that._

She was suprised when Guitan looked down. Jordan lunged forward and slammed into him. He stumbled, crashed into a file cabinet, and fell. She kicked the gun out of his hand. "Now it's my turn to ask the questions. Who are you and Avarro working for?"

He gasped for breath. "Client privilege," he croaked. "I think you as an American should appreciate that."

Jordan responded by putting a bullet between his eyes. She picked up the files and hurried out the door. "Woody!" she called. "Are you okay?"

A huge man stood at the top of the stairs. There was no sign of Woody.

At the bottom of the stairs, Woody forced himself to sit up. His attacker lifted a shotgun- _where'd that come from? _he wondered- and leered down at him. "Time to die!"

He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard a gunshot. Any second now, he expected a bullet to tear through his flesh. Instead, the large man fell forwards and rolled down the stairs. "Woody!" Jordan yelled.

"I'm okay," he said. Another man came up behind her. "Jordan! Look out!"

She spun around to see an even larger man. He shoved her. She fell backwards down the stairs, but her fall was cushioned by the dead man's body. The second man slowly made his way down the stairs. He had a malevolent smile on his face as he aimed a shotgun at the two Americans. He looked down at his gun to reload. In those 30 seconds, Jordan and Woody slammed the door open and raced back into the lobby.

"You have the files?" Woody asked.

"Yes." She picked up a large purse that someone had left unattended on a table.

"What's that for?" asked Woody.

Jordan dumped the contents out and put the files into the empty bag, then hung the long strap across her shoulders. "I'm sick of carrying them."

As they approached the glass door, Jordan heard something, a high-pitched sound. She stopped. "What's that?" she asked.

Woody's eyes grew wide. "Get down!" he shouted, as a rocket-propelled grenade smashed through the window and destroyed the wall behind them. Outside, a car sped away, it's occupants thinking that they had finished their job.

Woody and Jordan stood up and took off running for the fire exit as two men carrying AK-47 Assault Rifles stepped inside through the hole in the window. They shot a barrage of bullets at their targets' retreating backs.

"What the fuck is this?" Woody shouted as they ran up the stairs.

Jordan swallowed. _If only you knew..._

They threw open the door of the nearest office and took shelter within. Jordan looked at the nameplate on the desk. They were in Javier Avarro's office. "How ironic," she muttered. She stared at the strange dark stains on the top of the desk. Woody grabbed her by the arm. "Uh, Jordan? I think we're a little too late."

Javier Avarro himself was sprawled out behind his desk, dead.

The fire alarm went off, and Jordan could smell the acrid odor of smoke. "What are they trying to do: cover the evidence?" Woody asked.

"Woody, there's something you need to know."

"What, are you going to confess your love for me or something?" he said sardonically.

"No, this is serious. They know who we are."

"What?" They heard the bottom door to the fire exit slam shut. "Later. We have to get out of here."

They raced down the hall, the sprinkler system dousing them with ice cold water. They hurried over to the other stairs where the large man with the shotgun was still standing guard. Woody crept over to him. His Glock was lying a couple feet behind the man, and he wanted it back. _Almost there. _Closer and closer he crept, sweat beading on his forehead and falling into his eyes, until he had the weapon in his hand. "Hola," he said.

The large man turned around in suprise as he was shot in the back. He fell down the stairs and landed by his partner. "That was easily the stupidest thing you've ever done," Jordan said.

Woody shrugged. "I wanted my gun back."

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Jordan and Woody knelt on the flat roof of the law office next to a coil of rope, the harsh Mexican sun drying them off. "Okay, the next roof is about three yards away from us," Jordan reasoned. "All we have to do is jump."

"Right. Piece of cake." He rolled his eyes. "Jordan, we both know that we can't jump nine feet." The door to the roof opened. "But I guess we have no choice."

Jordan grabbed the rope and tied an end around one of the exhaust pipes. "We'll swing across." The men with the AK-47's came out and reloaded.

Woody and Jordan both grabbed onto the rope and jumped, slamming against the building. "Okay, on the count of three we'll kick against the wall," she said.

They glanced up and saw the assault rifle barrels. "Three!" Woody shouted.

Instead of landing on the other roof, they smashed through the window of a dentist's office. The stunned dentist and his equally stunned patient stared at the two Americans. "Uh, sorry," said Woody.

"And don't forget to brush twice daily," Jordan added.

When they were outside and several blocks away, Woody asked, "Okay, so what do I need to know?"

Jordan pulled two files out of her bag. One was labled 'Jordan Cavanaugh', and the other was labled 'Woodrow "Woody" Hoyt'. "They know who we are," she said grimly. "That's why we were attacked. They want us dead as much as we want them dead."

"We didn't learn anything, did we?" asked Woody.

"No. Except Guitan said something about client privilege. Maybe one of their clients is a Black Dragon. We need to go back there and-"

"No way! We barely got out of there alive the first time."

"Then, what, we wait for them to find us first?" Jordan demanded angrily.

Neither one of them had an answer for that.

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**A/N: **_ No cliffhangers here! This is the part where the entire story changes, so watch out for more plot twists... _


	8. Pawns

_Disclaimer: No tengo nada..._

**A/N: **_To **aduck8myshoes**: viva el canario! Yeah, I was tempted to name a character "El Canario", but I had a feeling that no one else would get it._

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_"Can't run, can't hide/ there's no way out" -Boomkat, "The Wreckoning" _

**El Aeropuerto Central**

**Mexico City, Mexico**

The American airlines line that Jordan and Woody were standing in was moving very slowly. _Good, _thought Jordan. _Maybe I'll have enough time to convince Woody to stay. _

"Could this line move any slower?" Woody grumbled.

"You know, Woody," Jordan began, but he cut her off.

"No way, Jordan. There's no way you're going to convince me to stay. I'm going home, where it's safe."

"Safe?" Jordan snorted derisevly. "My dad and Garrett were killed by these same people back home, where it's 'safe.'"

"I'll go into witness protection."

"Yeah, the FBI will love that," she said sarcastically. "'These Mexican gangsters are after us because we murdered several of their associates, so you have to protect us instead of charging us.' C'mon Woody; whatever happened to 'in it until the end?'"

Woody bit his lip. "Things have changed. Besides, we have no idea who we're looking for in the first place."

Jordan shook her head. "We can't just give up."

"That's exactly what we're doing."

"Fine. Go ahead. Give up. I don't need you." She picked up her suitcase and stalked off towards the gift shop, a couple hundred yards away.

Woody jogged after her. "I'm not leaving without you, Jordan," he insisted.

"Then I guess you're not leaving."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then, Jordan finally looked away and instead focused on the front page of a Mexican newspaper. "Hey," she said. "Check it out. It's Avarro and Guitan's law firm."

"'Attack on law firm leaves four dead and 12 injured. Two partners, Javier Avarro and Carlos Guitan, are among the dead,'" Woody read. "'One of their clients, hotel executive Elvira Mendoza, will speak at their funeral' yada-yada-yada. 'No suspects have been named yet.' At least we're not suspects."

"Elvira Mendoza," Jordan said. "Who knows, maybe she's the Black Dragons link."

"Uh-uh. No way! Jordan, give it up."

She ignored him and tapped a man in a business suit on the shoulder. "Do you speak English?" she asked. He nodded. "Good. Do you know anything about Elvira Mendoza?"

"Yes I do. She's some business executive that works for a resort chain."

"Does she ever do anything illegal?" She ignored the 'you-did-not-just-ask-that' look Woody was giving her.

The businessman looked around. "Well, she's known as 'La Dragon Negra', if that's any sort of clue. Why? Are you investigating her for something?"

"Thank you very much, senor," Woody cut in. He grabbed Jordan by the arm. "Come on, Jordan. Let's go."

"I'd be careful if I were you," the man said. "There's a man in dark sunglasses who's been staring at you the entire time you've been here."

Woody half- dragged her into a small airport cafe next door. "What were you thinking?" he demanded.

"I found the Black Dragons link," she said.

He smacked himself on the forehead. "You're lucky that guy wasn't a Black Dragon himself! If he was, you could've gotten killed!"

"What, were you worried about me?"

"Yes I was, actually," he said gently. "You know I care about you."

Jordan felt her face turn hot. "Well, stop caring so much." She regreted saying those words as soon as they left her mouth.

There was a tense silence. "Fine," Woody finally said. "Just forget what I said."

"I'm sor-"

"Do you see a man in dark sunglasses nearby?" he interrupted.

Jordan looked around, grateful for the distraction. She spotted him entering the gift shop where they just were. "In there."

"Let's go," sighed Woody. "I'm sure there's another hotel nearby that we could check in at."

"Thanks." She half-smiled.

"For what? You would have stayed no matter what I did."

"True, but thanks for staying with me anyways."

"No problem." Actually, it was a problem, but he wasn't about to admit it.

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The man in dark sunglasses handed the man in the business suit an envelope full of cash. "El jefe gives his regards," he said.

The businessman nodded slowly. _Poor Americanos, _he thought. _They should know better than to trust anyone, especially when such powerful people want them dead. _He shivered, knowing exactly what would happen to the two Americans once they caught up with Elvira Mendoza, or if their enemies caught up with them first.

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As the day progressed, the airport steadily became more and more crowded. Jordan and Woody made their way through a swarm of people on their way to the exit. Someone crashed into Woody, causing him to drop his suitcase. A short, skinny man grabbed the bag and ran off. "Hey!" Woody shouted. "Get back here, you son of a bitch! That's mine!" The thief kept running.

Two miutes later, a large, muscular man in cargo pants made his way over to the Americans, Woody's suitcase in hand. "Here you go, senor," he said. "I hope the rest of your trip turns out to be better."

"Gracias," Woody said gratefully. He picked up his bag, and he and Jordan hurried away.

The man watched them go, a crooked smile on his face. He began to count seconds. _They should be outside of the building by now, _he thought, ten minutes later. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. '5-5-1-1-pound', he pressed, then hit 'send'. Two seconds later, he heard a satisfying explosion. People screamed, glass shattered, and car alarms went off. In the distance, he could hear the high pitched wail of sirens. _A job well done. _He pulled a pair of binoculars out of his other pocket and pushed pass the stunned people to the exit, in order to see the carnage he'd created. Through the smoke he could see a dark spot where the suitcase had exploded. Suprisingly, he could see no blood or any other evidence that two people exploded along with their luggage. He peered through the binoculars. A dark haired man and woman- barely visible due to their distance, even with binoculars- were running as fast as they could away from the blast site.

"No," the man whispered as he was hit with a wave of shock and horror. _How could they not be dead? What will El Primero do to me, once he realizes that I failed?_

The cell phone rang. With shaking hands, he answered it. "Hola," he whispered, mouth dry.

"Are they dead yet?" the deep voice of one of El Primero's lietenants asked.

"No, sir." _There's no use lying; they'd find out anyways. _"I don't know what happened. I guess these Americans are smarter than we think."

"We?" The deep voice was cold. "Turn around, maggot."

He did so and, to his horror, saw the dark outline of a Black Dragon sniper lying prone on the roof of the airport. He dropped the phone and took a step backwards. "No," he gasped.

He joined the phone on the ground shortly after.

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**A/N: **_ Yes, it's all a setup. Will Jordan and Woody be next? Oh wait, I'm writing this story, so I should know, shouldn't I?_


	9. Highway to Hell

**A/N: **_Sorry the update took so long, but I was in Florida and then I came back and had writer's block. Hopefully my next update won't take so long!_

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"_Am I too lost to be saved?" Evanescence, "Tourniquet"_

**Guitan, Avarro, and Associates, attorneys-at-law**

"I can't believe we're back here already," said Woody as he and Jordan stepped over the yellow police tape into the remains of the law firm. "We barely made it out alive last time."

"Hopefully no one took the computers," Jordan said.

"Hopefully no one thinks we're dumb enough to actually come back here," Woody replied.

"What- are you scared?" she taunted as she pushed open the heavy door to the stairs.

He gave her a sarcastic look and said nothing.

The second floor hallway was deserted minus a few stray shell casings. Jordan shook the handle of the door to Avarro's office. "It's locked."

"Okay; time to go," said Woody. Jordan grabbed him by his collar.

"You're a cop; bust the door down."

He muttered something under his breath. Then, he slammed his body against the door. It sprang open and he fell hard to the floor. "Ouch," he said, rubbing his wrist.

"Someone left the computer on," Jordan remarked.

"I don't think that's a good sign."

Every single file had been erased from the dead lawyer's computer. Woody slammed his fist on the desk. "What now?"

Jordan held up a hand. "Do that again."

"Huh?"

"Just do it!"

They heard a rattling noise come from inside the desk. "There's something in there," Jordan said.

"It's locked."

"Is there a key around here somewhere?" Instead of looking for one, she fired her pistol twice, blowing the drawer open.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Woody commented.

Inside the drawer were a blank legal pad, a manila folder, and a floppy disk. The folder was full of newspaper clippings. Jordan read one from _USA Today. _"'Extradition of Hotel Executive to the US Denied.' It says here that Elvira Mendoza, executive vice- president of Delfina Grande Resorts Ltd was the main suspect as the leader of an illegal arms dealing ring, and for the attempted murder of New York City police detective Elliot Stabler. She fled the country right before the indictment, and the Mexican government refused to extradite her." She flipped through the folder. "It looks like our late Senor Avarro was a little obsessed with her."

"Or the Black Dragons are setting us up again," Woody said darkly.

"I wonder what's on the disk."

"I wonder if there's a store nearby. My clothes blew up, remember?"

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**Calle Gorda Internet Café**

**Mexico City, Mexico**

"God I hope this works," Jordan muttered as she inserted the floppy disk into a computer.

On it were several files labeled in Spanish. She double- clicked on one titled 'Informacion Personal'. She snickered under her breath at one labeled 'Senorita Conchita's bordello'.

"Bingo," she said suddenly. Elvira Mendoza's address and phone numbers were in a file all their own. Jordan printed the information, ejected the disk, and went outside to wait for Woody.

Woody hurried over, two large shopping bags in his hands. "Thanks for the cash," he said, then frowned. "Uh, Jordan? Where are you getting all of this money from?"

"My dad left me a large amount of money, and I have no clue where he got it from."

"So that's it?" Woody asked. "That's Elvira Mendoza's personal information?"

"Yep. Easy, I know."

"Too easy. Do you think-"

"They're setting us up again?" Jordan half- smiled. "There is no doubt in my mind that they are."

"Great. So where exactly are we going to find her?"

"The presidential suite of Isla Delphina resort in Acapulco."

"It's about time we get a vacation," Woody muttered.

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**Highway 32**

**En Route to Acapulco, Mexico**

Jordan pushed her sunglasses up on the bridge of her nose. She watched Woody pump gas into their rented Ford Focus as she leaned against it and sighed. God was she tired! She hadn't had a good night sleep since, well, the night before the morgue shooting. It seemed so long ago. But then again, everything was moving so fast…

Woody handed the gas station owner the money for the gas, making sure he stayed clear of the practically ancient video camera. As he put the change back into his wallet, he heard a click behind him. "_Why is everyone trying to kill me?" _he shouted, without realizing that he'd spoken out loud.

He spun around and shot the man three times in the chest. The impact threw him off his feet. His wife ran out from a back room, screaming. "Why you kill him?" she shrieked in broken English. "He no hurt you. He shoot snake."

Sure enough, a rattlesnake slithered over to Woody from the outside. "What did I do?" he whispered. The woman continued sobbing. "SHUT UP!" Woody screamed, tears pouring down his face. He shot the snake over and over again, until the only thing left of it was a small dark stain. "I'm sorry!" he yelled. "God damn it, I'm sorry!"

He ran out the door, where he was violently sick. "Woody?" Jordan asked in concern.

_The people in the morgue were innocent like that man, too. Am I turning into one of them?_

Woody slid into the passenger seat, unable to stop shaking. "I killed an innocent man in there," he whispered. "I killed him."

"Woody, it's not-"

"No, Jordan. It is my fault." He leaned forward and rested his head on the dashboard. "And you know what the worst part is? I'm never going to be caught. That man and his wife will never get justice. No one cares about a poor, dead gas station owner, especially not here." He looked up. "What are we doing here, Jordan? Aren't we just as bad as the Dragons themselves?"

"No Woody," Jordan said firmly. "We're the ones fighting for justice."

_I wish I was as sure as you, _Woody thought. He stared out the window; every cloud in the endless sky was the body of the dead man, the sun was his blood, and the highway, he was sure, led straight to hell.

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_**A/N: **I promise that the next update will NOT take so long. Oh, and look out for a plot twist! _


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